Heir Of Novron: The Riyria Revelations

Heir Of Novron: The Riyria Revelations

 

Sullivan, Michael J

 

 

 

 

This book is entirely dedicated to my wife, Robin Sullivan.

 

 

 

Some have asked how it is I write such strong women without resorting to putting swords in their hands. It is because of her.

 

 

 

She is Arista

 

She is Thrace

 

She is Modina

 

She is Amilia

 

And she is my Gwen.

 

This series has been a tribute to her.

 

 

 

This is your book, Robin.

 

 

 

 

 

I hope you don’t mind that I put down in words

 

How wonderful life is while you’re in the world.

 

—ELTON JOHN, BERNIE TAUPIN

 

 

 

 

 

KNOWN REGIONS OF THE WORLD OF ELAN

 

 

 

 

Estrendor: Northern wastes

 

Erivan Empire: Elvenlands

 

Apeladorn: Nations of man

 

Ba Ran Archipelago: Islands of goblins

 

Westerlands: Western wastes

 

Dacca: Isle of south men

 

 

 

 

 

NATIONS OF APELADORN

 

 

 

 

Avryn: Central wealthy kingdoms

 

Trent: Northern mountainous kingdoms

 

Calis: Southeastern tropical region ruled by warlords

 

Delgos: Southern republic

 

 

 

 

 

KINGDOMS OF AVRYN

 

 

Ghent: Ecclesiastical holding of the Nyphron Church

 

Melengar: Small but old and respected kingdom

 

Warric: Most powerful of the kingdoms of Avryn

 

Dunmore: Youngest and least sophisticated kingdom

 

Alburn: Forested kingdom

 

Rhenydd: Poor kingdom

 

Maranon: Producer of food. Once part of Delgos, which was lost when Delgos became a republic

 

Galeannon: Lawless kingdom of barren hills, the site of several great battles

 

 

 

 

 

THE GODS

 

 

 

 

Erebus: Father of the gods

 

Ferrol: Eldest son, god of elves

 

Drome: Second son, god of dwarves

 

Maribor: Third son, god of men

 

Muriel: Only daughter, goddess of nature

 

Uberlin: Son of Muriel and Erebus, god of darkness

 

 

 

 

 

POLITICAL PARTIES

 

 

 

 

Imperialists: Those wishing to unite mankind under a single leader who is the direct descendant of the demigod Novron

 

Nationalists: Those wishing to be ruled by a leader chosen by the people

 

Royalists: Those wishing to perpetuate rule by individual, independent monarchs

 

 

 

 

 

BOOK V

 

 

 

 

 

WINTERTIDE

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 1

 

 

 

 

 

AQUESTA

 

 

 

 

 

Some people are skilled, and some are lucky, but at that moment Mince realized he was neither. Failing to cut the merchant’s purse strings, he froze with one hand still cupping the bag. He knew the pickpocket’s creed allowed for only a single touch, and he had dutifully slipped into the crowd after two earlier attempts. A third failure meant they would bar him from another meal. Mince was too hungry to let go.

 

With his hands still under the merchant’s cloak, he waited. The man remained oblivious.

 

Should I try again?

 

The thought was insane, but his empty stomach won the battle over reason. In a moment of desperation, Mince pushed caution aside. The leather seemed oddly thick. Sawing back and forth, he felt the purse come loose, but something was not right. It took only an instant for Mince to realize his mistake. Instead of purse strings, he had sliced through the merchant’s belt. Like a hissing snake, the leather strap slithered off the fat man’s belly, dragged to the cobblestones by the weight of his weapons.

 

Mince did not breathe or move as the entire span of his ten disappointing years flashed by.

 

Run! the voice inside his head screamed as he realized there was a heartbeat, perhaps two, before his victim—

 

The merchant turned.

 

He was a large, soft man with saddlebag cheeks reddened by the cold. His eyes widened when he noticed the purse in Mince’s hand. “Hey, you!” The man reached for his dagger, and surprise filled his face when he found it missing. Groping for his other weapon, he spotted them both lying in the street.

 

Mince heeded the voice of his smarter self and bolted. Common sense told him the best way to escape a rampaging giant was to head for the smallest crack. He plunged beneath an ale cart outside The Blue Swan Inn and slid to the far side. Scrambling to his feet, he raced for the alley, clutching the knife and purse to his chest. The recent snow hampered his flight, and his small feet lost traction rounding a corner.

 

“Thief! Stop!” The shouts were not nearly as close as he had expected.

 

Mince continued to run. Finally reaching the stable, he ducked between the rails of the fence framing the manure pile. Exhausted, he crouched with his back against the far wall. The boy shoved the knife into his belt and stuffed the purse down his shirt, leaving a noticeable bulge. Panting amidst the steaming piles, he struggled to hear anything over the pounding in his ears.

 

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